I think a tie between Paranormal and Contemporary. But also
love me some BDSM and LGBT so…um. The answer is “Yes”.

How long have you been writing?

I’ve been writing all my life, seriously since college. I’ve
been writing full-time/professionally for nine years. Time flies when you’re
talking to the people in your head.

Please describe your writing environment.

Wherever I can sit or stand and bang out a few words. Though
I do gravitate to the ugly pink chair in the living room and my standing desk
that is capable of being rolled through the house and yet I somehow always park
it by the window in the dining room. But I’m scrappy. I’ll work just about
anywhere I’m capable.

What is your writing process? Do you outline, fly by the seat
of your pants or a combination of both?

I’m a pantser all the way. I do my pages for the day and
then at the end in caps I’ll give myself a prompt of what the next step in the
book is so that I don’t forget which direction my brain was headed. I usually
have a general idea of the plot and outcome of a novel but beyond that it’s all
a surprise to me!

Do you have a ritual when it comes to writing? Example….get
coffee, blanket, paper, pen and a comfy place?

Coffee, girl to school, second cup of coffee, morning
protein shake, feet up in ugly pink chair and my most productive hour is about
to happen (usually). I work in small cycles throughout the day but usually that
first chunk of time is when I can bang out the most words for my buck J

Stilettos: Sexy or not?

If you feel sexy in them, absolutely. If you don’t, then no.
It’s all about how you feel.

Do you have anything special you do to get into the
writing mood?

Nope. I just look
for an opportunity and wedge in as many words as I can!

Does this make my butt look big?

Nope. You’re a tiny thing:

What’s been the most challenging part of writing erotica,
for you?

Not having so much sex it’s unbelievable. I love the sex
scenes. I love the intimacy. I love how vulnerable my characters usually are in
those moments with one another. So I have to rein in the sex otherwise all my
folks would have some serious chafing.

Where won't you go with erotica? What are your taboos?

The standards. Underage, abuse, the like. If it makes me
oogey, I won’t go there.

Erotica has the ability to be as sweet or as raunchy as you
like it. Where do you feel your work fits in the spectrum?

I feel I’m midline. I
can be extremely sweet, I can stick a foot into raunchy. I think I basically
fall in the addictive and captivating range. Fingers and toes crossed. ;)

What is the hardest part of writing a sex scene?

Nothing. I love the sex scenes, they’re my favorite parts.

Do you ever have issues with the language, specifically when
referring to anatomical parts? I mean how many ways can one really say dick or
pussy without it getting a little old? Are there any terms you refuse to use
or, on the flip side, are their words that are your go-to words simply for the
shock value?

I refuse to use euphemisms. They drive me insane. Make me
bonkers. I stick with the standard words and I try to mix them up or rephrase
so they don’t get repetitive. So instead of “cock” one hundred times one might
mix it up with shaft or tip or whatever depending on what’s going on. It can be
done without inserting a ‘hot rod of love’ in your book! (unless you love
euphemisms…then go for it. It’s your book, after all).

Can you share a little of your current work with us?

This is from the Accidental trilogy—book 2 The Accidental
Girlfriend:

“This is it.” Charlie cut the engine and turned to look at
me. I could see my breath inside the car. It was supposed to be warmer.

“It’s nice,” I said. The cabin was courtesy of Jed.
Charlie’s friend was a caretaker of several cabins in Pennsylvania. Which meant
he had an in at getting his friends reduced rates in the off seasons. A rainy,
windy March was definitely off season.

Wind rocked the car and Charlie sighed. “Okay, so it was
supposed to be warmer,” he said.

“A little.” For some reason it suddenly struck me as funny
and I snickered.

“And sunnier,” he said as the rain picked up and banged the
windshield with tiny wet fists.

“I think Noah just floated past.”

He frowned at me but it was playful. A high trickle of
laughter slipped out of me and I clamped a hand over my mouth.

“Woman,” he muttered to me, shaking his head. Then he took
my hands in his and my humor faded. My pulse raced. “It doesn’t change
anything,” he said. “We can still spend time alone, we can be together. You can
figure out—“Here’s where Charlie shook his head and looked away.

We were there to see if I could take the next step—be his
girlfriend. Or if we were going to have to be done. He loved me. Or at the very
least, was beginning to love me. I was sitting on the proverbial fence like it
would come to life and I could ride it off into the sunset.

It wasn’t that it would be impossible to love Charlie. I fucking
figured I was more than seventy-five percent there already on most days. If not
more. The problem would be accepting it and being at peace with it. I was
barely a year out of a divorce. I’d been someone’s wife for twenty years. So,
why did being someone’s girlfriend seem so daunting?

“What?” I asked, though part of me didn’t want to know.
“Figure out what?”

He smiled crookedly and popped the lock on the car door. “If
I’m worthy,” he said, as if it were no big deal. Before I could say anything at
all he stepped out of the vehicle. Cold rain invaded and I let out a squawk and
opened my own door.

“Oh my God!” I screeched, heading for the door of the cabin.
Fuck the clothes. We could get them later. I ran along the pebbled path and saw
in my peripheral vision, Charlie hurrying up behind me, only he had a suitcase
in each hand. The temperature hovered around mid-forties but with the cold rain
and wind it felt well below freezing. I hit the painted wooden porch and
suddenly the sensation of being airborne hit me. I wasn’t. I could tell I
wasn’t. I was, in fact, sliding along the porch. I lost my balance, bounced off
the painted red front door and fell on my ass.

Charlie was right there, then, suitcases forgotten. “Jesus,
Abby! Are you okay?” He touched me, running gentle seeking hands along my body.
When he reached my right ankle, I winced.

“Ooch,” I whispered.

“Ooch? Not ouch?”

He wiggled my ankle and I gave a strangled little cry.
“Ooch! Ouch is so overused,” I hissed. “Heath used to say it. It’s a joke between
me and my kids. I guess I never let go of it.” I was babbling.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” he said, looking at it,
prodding and manipulating so I had to stifle the urge to punch him in the head.
“Maybe a mild sprain. Let’s get you in.”

He stood, pulled the key from his pocket and unlocked the
door. Then he stopped to get me. “I can stand!” I argued.

“Put your damn arms around my neck and let me be the hero
for ten seconds,” he said. He was smiling but his eyes were serious.

I put my arms around his neck and took a deep breath. I let
myself be vulnerable for a second. It was uncomfortable but doable. I was
starting to see what might be our problem.

Me.

Do you have any advice for other writers?

Write. Don’t give up. Write some more. But be more than an
ass in a seat. The richer your life, the richer your writing.

Thank you so much for being here today, Sommer! I know I can't wait to read this latest release! And if you're ready to dive in too, click the links below to purchase!

Excerpt:
“I just realized that you were born the year before I graduated.” I
suddenly felt less sexy older woman and more of a creepy aged predator.

“So?” He went to the counter and I saw that Pat was working. I waved to
her. She looked at me and then at Charlie and gave me a grin. She was
only a few years younger than me.

I couldn’t look directly at her and was having vivid fantasies about
bursting into flames or the floor opening up and swallowing me whole.

What is wrong with you? He’s a grown man, not a child. He’s young
but he’s obviously smart and honest. Who are you to question his
attraction to you?

The thought startled me and I pushed my lips together as he paid her
for his snack and turned to me. When he looped his arm through mine I
felt my body go rigid. “You’re an ageist,” he said in my ear as he led
me out of the store.

I put the brakes on in the foyer. It was chilly but there was still
heat blowing down from the overhead vents. Charlie looked down at me,
his slouchy beanie at the perfect angle on his head to accent how damn
pretty he was.

“I am not an ageist!” I hissed. “I’m just a little thrown…is all. I’m…out of practice,” I finished weakly.

“Surely men have flirted with you even when you were married.” He led
me out into the whipping wind. Small wet snowflakes were beginning to
dot the pavement.

“I guess. I mean, yes, once or twice. But you are—“

He turned to me, his face suddenly serious in the stark white light
from the streetlamps that lit the parking lot. “Please don’t tell me I’m
not a man, Ace.”

I bit my tongue. Had I been about to say that?

“Oh, I wouldn’t. I mean, I know you are. Just to me you’re so…new,” I
said, smiling. I felt almost sad. “You’re so new and your life is
stretched out before you. You have all this stuff to do and experience
and live. You have lots of marrow to suck up.” I clicked the button on
my key fob to unlock the door.

“And your marrow has dried up?” he asked me over the hood of the car.

“What? No! I have plenty of marrow! I just meant…”

“Well, that’s how you’re making it sound.” He opened the door and
climbed in. We both shut our doors in unison. He set his chips and soda
on the floor and turned to me. “Did it ever occur you, Abby, that I
might be your marrow?”

Before I could react or answer, he tucked his palm behind my head and
pulled me to him. His mouth was warm and soft. His tongue tasted of the
sweet coffee he must have been drinking at work.

I kissed him back. For all I was worth. For every thing I’d once
thought I would do but hadn’t. For every dream I hadn’t given a shot.
For every wish I’d let drift off into the ether. I kissed Charlie for
every single one of those and all the fresh ones I still wanted to give a
shot. I kissed him because in that moment in time, he was my damn
marrow.

And he was so much smarter than I’d ever even considered.

His fingers slid along my scalp, sifted through my hair. He kissed me
deeper, his tongue hot against mine. He paused to push his face to my
hair and inhale deeply. My stomach felt like it dropped a foot.

“You smell really good, Ace.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“Now was that so terrible?”

“No.”

He chuckled in the cold darkness of my car. “Good to know it wasn’t terrible.”

I couldn’t bring myself to say anything beyond, “Do it again. Please.
Do it again.” I didn’t recognize my voice as my own. There was so much
life in it. A husky, smoky kind of want that resonated through the
silence.

He pulled me to him again and teased me with the softest kiss I’d ever
received. For a moment I wasn’t sure he was actually toughing his lips
to mine but then he pressed his mouth to mine a bit firmer and I felt a
shuddery little breath shake through me.